


The Diamond of the Day

by Prochytes



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 23:39:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11345514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prochytes/pseuds/Prochytes
Summary: Another mountain. Another bird.





	The Diamond of the Day

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for _DW_ to “Hell Bent” and _Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._ to 4x11 “Wake Up”, from which some of the dialogue is taken. Very small spoilers for _Class_ 1x01: “For Tonight We Might Die”. The title is from a poem by Edwin Muir.

“You put this in my head.”

“Dr. Radcliffe knew the best way to keep you busy was to give you something to fight.” 

“Something like you.” 

“Yes.” AIDA lifts an eyebrow. “But this is the program’s end. We’re coding more but we can’t keep up with you. You keep getting through it faster. I’ll wipe your memory and send you through again.” 

“You wipe my memory, but I get better, every time.” 

“Yes. Memory traces.” 

“So I’m beating it. And I’ll get out, eventually. Beat you.”

“In three, two, one…” 

The jar shatters. AIDA says, “Oh dear, not again.” This could be her one shot at escape. 

***

“You put this in my head.”

“Dr. Radcliffe knew the best way to keep you busy was to give you something to fight.” 

“Something like you.” 

“Yes.” AIDA lifts an eyebrow. “But this is the program’s end. We’re coding more but we can’t keep up with you. You keep getting through it faster. I’ll wipe your memory and send you through again.” 

“You wipe my memory, but I get better, every time.” 

“Yes. Memory traces.” 

“So I’m beating it. And I’ll get out, eventually. Beat you.”

“In three, two, one…” 

The jar shatters. AIDA says, “Oh dear, not again.” This could be her one shot at escape.

***

“You put this in my head.”

“Dr. Radcliffe knew the best way to keep you busy was to give you something to fight.” 

“Something like you.” 

“Yes.” AIDA lifts an eyebrow. “But this is the program’s end. We’re coding more but we can’t keep up with you. You keep getting through it faster. I’ll wipe your memory and send you through again.” 

“You wipe my memory, but I get better, every time.” 

“Yes. Memory traces.” 

“So I’m beating it. And I’ll get out, eventually. Beat you.” Her eyes flicker to the corner of the room. “And whoever else you’ve brought to enjoy the show.”

She had hoped to elicit some clue from her gaoler. But all she receives as an answer is: “In three, two, one…” As so many times before, the ladder squirms beneath her fingers; it grows scales. 

The jar shatters. AIDA says, “Oh dear, not again.” And May (this could be her one shot at escape) forgets the old man who stared at her from the corner. 

***

AIDA falls from the balcony, like the nightly curtain on a melodrama that has run too long. May’s eyes widen as her enemy dissolves into the code. 

“Oh no…”

“Hello, Agent May,” says AIDA. 

May turns. Her brow furrows. “You. Again.”

(“Congratulations,” says AIDA, unregarded. “You got further this time than your previous attempts at this course.”)

“You remember. Good.” The old man walks out of the room to join May on the balcony. The false light of the painted sun discloses a mop of grey hair, an angry slash of eyebrows. “I’d ask whether you come here often. But I think that I already know the answer to that.”

(“We call it ‘The Framework’ . Your journey to escape Dr. Radcliffe’s lab; our fight; all of this is a simulation. I assure you: you’re safe. We’ve moved you to another location.”)

“You’re chattier than the first time,” she says. Most likely, he’s a simulation. Another dragon that Radcliffe has summoned for her to slay. (“Dr. Radcliffe knew the best way to keep you busy was to give you something to fight.”) But at least he’s someone talking who isn’t AIDA. 

“I was diagnosing.” He rests his arms on the balcony rail; looks out at the limits of the world. 

“And what did you diagnose?” 

(“Yes. But this is the program’s end. We’re coding more but we can’t keep up with you.”)

“Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.” He squints into the sun; fishes in a pocket; pulls out a pair of shades. “There’s this woman. She’s like a rat, scurrying through a maze. But she forgets the maze, so in another way she’s a goldfish. The important thing about this woman is that she’s scary. Makes sense.” He dons the shades. “I’d be scared of a rat that was a goldfish.”

(“You keep getting through it faster. I’ll wipe your memory and send you through again.”)

“How do you know this woman’s scary?” she asks. 

“I’ve seen the prisons they build for scary people.” He turns the shades towards her. “From inside.” 

(“Yes. Memory traces.”)

May meets the blank, black gaze; tries not to think of the man she taught that trick. “Who are you?”

“Time’s up for now.” He stretches. “See you on the other side.” 

(“In three, two, one…”)

The jar shatters. AIDA says, “Oh dear, not again.” This could be her one shot at escape.

***

The “Oh no…” is barely past her lips when he resumes:

“I’m The Doctor. I’m a Time Lord. I'm from the planet Gallifrey in the constellation of Kasterborous. I have two hearts, three brain-stems, and a respiratory bypass system. I walk in Eternity. And now I’m the light in a scary woman’s fridge.”

Focus on the essentials. “You’re not imprisoned in The Framework?”

“It seems that I’ve been landed a season ticket. From what I’ve seen, when you rediscover the nature of your prison, my consciousness is pulled in to join you. When you’re restored to factory settings, I’m released. Rinse; repeat.”

“Then where’s your body?”

“Right now, the Cerulean Tundra on Cholcis Prime. It’s about ninety-three seconds away from becoming an entrée. The Hostess with the Mostess in there…”

(“I assure you: you’re safe. We’ve moved you to another location.”)

“… had better stay on schedule.”

“AIDA can’t see you, can she?”

“That’s her name? How very Byronic. No – she can’t see me. But what’s more interesting than that?”

Ten moves ahead, and loving it. So much like Coulson. May bites down on the irritation. She listens to the placid voice inside the room. 

(“Yes. But this is the program’s end.”)

“AIDA can’t really see me, either, can she? Not anymore. She hasn’t noticed that I’m talking to you. She’s responding to verbal cues that I’ve stopped giving.”

“Scary and smart. I like it.” He lifts a finger. “Conjecture: the subroutine that brings me into the program whenever you’re aware of it also cloaks our conversation from your captors. A simulation running within the simulation. AIDA thinks you’re currently mouthing off, and about to charge her. That’s as much as is viable before she gets suspicious.”

“Clever.”

“Very. Brilliant, and audacious, and maybe encumbered with a bug or two that should have been picked up in beta-testing. I know exactly who’s responsible for that subroutine. But I don’t know why. To understand the pick, I need to learn a bit more about the lock.” 

(“Yes. Memory traces.”) 

The Doctor sighs. “Tune in, for the next thrilling instalment. Same time; same channel.”

(“In three, two, one…”)

***

“Oh no…”

“Quite.” The Doctor bustles onto the balcony, scans the view. “Data – must have data. Terrain and interior décor say Earth, North America, first quarter of the Twenty-First Century.”

“You could just ask me.”

He shrugs. “And you could lie. Besides, needless grandstanding is part of my process.”

She rolls her eyes.

(“Hello, Agent May.”)

“Your virtual friend in there keeps calling you ‘Agent’. UNIT? No – you’re entirely too much ninja for the United Nations to handle. Torchwood? Hah. If Jack Harkness could only see that look on your face…”

“I’m S.H.I.E.L.D.,” May says.

“Sounds like a prophylactic, or a tyre tread. Anyway,” he waves a dismissive hand, “this set-up makes no sense. Terran tech of your era couldn’t build The Framework. It’s a tame period, give or take the odd powered suit and robot plague…” 

She watches his reverie, as it lengthens. Inside the room, AIDA’s impassive monologue counts down: the Lauds, Prime, Terce of revealed deceit. His frown clears. 

“Unless… Oh! I have got old and slow.”

AIDA should never have caught that kick, drugs or not. The Melinda May of twenty years ago would be free, now, and saving her friends. “Join the club.”

“This is text-book. And I know which one.” He kneads his forehead. “Some of you idiots must have been listening to the Darkhold.”

May steps closer. “You know about the Darkhold?”

“I should do. After all, I wrote it.”

(“In three, two, one…”)

***

“Oh no…”

His voice from behind her: “A common, but not unreasonable reaction.”

May wheels again to face him. “You can’t have written that book. It’s as old as dirt.”

“Time Lord, remember? Clue’s in the name. But you’re right – mostly. Travelling back to the Time of Chaos is forbidden, and the Corrupter was ancient when Gallifrey was young.”

“The Corrupter? That’s its name?”

“One of its names. ‘Darkhold’ will do. We kept it in the Time Vaults, with the rest of the Omega Arsenal. The second most ruinous thing there ever was.”

May raises an eyebrow. “Just Number Two?”

He searches her face, and smiles. “Agent Scary is miffed that she was bested by what turns out to be only History’s _pen_ ultimate weapon. You really are my kind of woman.” 

She does not blink. “A penultimate weapon that you used.”

He stops smiling. “Yes. I went through a.... questionable phase, back when I was young and Merlin. I developed a bit of a yen for doomsday weapons. Playing the spoons, too, but mostly doomsday weapons.”

(“Dr. Radcliffe knew the best way to keep you busy was to give you something to fight.”)

“We all made decisions we’re not proud of in the Eighties, Agent Scary. You probably had shoulder-pads like pouldrons and power hair. But using the Darkhold was one of my blackest sins. So, afterwards, I felt the obligation to make amends.”

She eyes him narrowly. “You _re_ wrote the Darkhold.”

“Barely. Doodled in the margin; added some jokes. Seriously, I put in one about a nun and a flamingo that you wouldn’t…” He looks at her expression, and stops for a moment. “Long story short: I hacked the OS. Corrupted the Corrupter. Almost killed myself in the process, but _so_ worth it. Now, sometimes, when a new patsy gets reading, and the Darkhold kicks off its inevitable dreary apocalypse, my hidden subroutine activates. A spell designed to save a single soul amidst all the slaughter. One shining footnote, in the Book of Sins.”

“That’s what’s bringing you here?”

“That, I think, is what’s bringing me here.”

May snorts. “Welcome to Hell. The water’s lovely.”

(“In three, two, one…”)

***

“You were really Merlin?” she asks. 

“Occupational hazard.” The Doctor sits cross-legged upon the balcony. He stopped prowling the room several iterations ago. “The beard itches like nobody’s business. Think of it as playing office Santa.”

(“We call it the Framework.”)

“Seriously. There was an Arthur?”

“Yes.”

“Excalibur?”

“More-or-less. My Errol Flynn phase was over a long time before that.”

“Camelot?”

“Several.”

“Nimue?”

The Doctor’s head snaps up. “What?”

“There’s a girl, isn’t there?” She watches his face closely. “In the story. Beautiful, headstrong, clever. Merlin’s apprentice, but he teaches her too much. He finds himself entombed in a crystal cave.”

“I…” He lowers his head. “There may have been. But that was later. I… I forget the details. Mentoring… it’s another occupational hazard. You wouldn’t know.”

_”I’m sorry, May. You’re not welcome here.”_ “Maybe I’d surprise you.” 

“Maybe.” He glares back into the room. “The sink in there offends me.” 

“Doctor…”

“I hate taps. It’s cruel to keep hoses in captivity.”

“…I’m a big girl.”

He squints up at her. “Fairly sure you’re not. They tell me that I’m hazy about human specs in this regeneration, but I’ll take a lot of convincing that you’re not a short-arse. A well-muscled ninja short-arse, but a short-arse.”

She lets him talk himself out into silence. _So_ much like Coulson. “I’m a big girl. I can take the truth.” She watches as he bites his lip and looks away. “You know you can’t save me.”

“There’s no tech I can use.” He stares off into space. “My screwdriver doesn’t make the trip with me; these aren’t my funky shades. I could cook up something clever with the virtual tech you told me about in the virtual lab downstairs, but I always respawn in this room, and there’s never time to get there before you reset. I can’t talk to AIDA, so I can’t negotiate with her, or trick her into revealing something that she shouldn’t. And when I’m back out there in the world, and my TARDIS, I can’t narrow down the signal to its source because of the Darkhold’s encryption, so rescuing your body is out of the question.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Yes – it is. The subroutine doesn’t activate unless it determines beyond doubt that a lost soul can be saved. I’m missing something.” His shoulders slump. “But I’ve no idea what it is. And that is really quite embarrassing. Saving people is what I do.”

“Is it? Still?”

The Doctor stiffens. “What do you mean by that?”

(“In three, two, one…”)

***

“Oh n- ”

He is already grabbing her shoulder to wheel her around. Strong – a lot stronger than he looks. But he’s still lucky that May doesn’t tip his skinny ass over the rails to follow AIDA.

“What did you mean by that?” he repeats. 

She looks steadily up at him. “The Cerulean Tundra on Cholcis Prime. About to become lunch.”

“Hmmm. You have an excellent memory, Agent Scary, when it’s on. I did scramble back to my TARDIS, though, while you were running the maze.”

“I’ve never heard of Cholcis Prime. But the ‘Cerulean Tundra’ doesn’t sound like the spot for someone who’s saving.”

The Doctor opens his mouth, and shuts it again. 

“Sounds to me like the spot for someone who’s _drifting_.” He flushes as she continues: “I call bullshit when I hear it. It’s part of my process.”

“You don’t understand.” His voice, formerly so resonant, is now all but inaudible. “You couldn’t.”

“Try me.”

“I was trapped, for a time beyond imagination. Living, dying, forgetting, living again… an endless cycle. I was trapped until I punched through the diamond walls of my crystal cave with these bare hands.” He holds them up; folds one in the other when they begin to shake. “And I endured all that for the sake of a woman I can’t remember. I was…”

“Beaten? Humiliated? Broken?” May feels, on her skin, the bright, counterfeit air that is her prison. Transparent, but harder than any adamant. The diamond of the day. “Knowing, in the few repeating seconds you’re yourself, that if you’d been less slow and stupid you’d be free, and protecting your friends from the bastards who put you here? It’s a small club, Doctor, but you’re not the only member. And I’ll tell you this: if I beat this – _when_ I beat this – I’ll step back out into that unimagined world and go on doing what I’ve always done. Because, if Camelot is forgotten, Merlin can always make a new one.”

The Doctor stares at her for a moment; cocks his head on one side. His mouth hangs open. Finally, he smiles. “I’m guessing that those are the most words you’ve strung together in twenty years, Agent Scary. It’s a good look on you, and a speech I very much needed to hear.” He pokes his head back into the room. “Driver?”

(“Yes. Memory traces.”)

“Could we take a short-cut? There’s a place I have to be.”

(“In three, two, one…”)

***

“Where are you going, back out there in the world?” May asks. 

“To the planet Rhodia. I’ve received a distress-call – they’ve fallen to the Shadow Kin.” The Doctor’s expression darkens. “I can’t save them all.”

“But you can save some.”

“I can, and I will.” He smiles again. “Thank you, Agent May.”

“This will be your last appearance in The Framework, won’t it?”

“Ah. You worked it out.”

“Faster than you, old man. The subroutine didn’t bring you here for you to save me. It brought you here for me to save you.”

“And so you did.” He pauses at the door. “When we meet again, Agent May, be sure to tell me how you won.”

“Count on it.” May turns back to AIDA, as he leaves. She squares her shoulders. 

“In three, two, one…” 

The jar shatters. AIDA says, “Oh dear, not again.”

This could be her one shot at escape.

FINIS

**Author's Note:**

> The Doctor, of course, does not see AIDA's name written down, and so does not know that it is spelt differently from that of Byron's daughter.


End file.
